


Divine Intervention

by Emily (JustAround)



Series: August 2018 Fic-A-Day [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Justified
Genre: Crossover, Fix-It of Sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:24:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15889698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAround/pseuds/Emily
Summary: Boyd knew he would never make it on time; his men's blood was on his hands.





	Divine Intervention

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during Bulletville, Season One of Justified and after Season Seven of Buffy

The first gunshot echoed through the trees, shattering the tranquil peace of the forest.

He stumbled in place at the second gunshot, at the screams now reverberating through the woods, his body already turning back the way he had come. His feet pounded against the damp earth as he ran frantically back to his camp, back to his followers, as branches and weeds smacked against his flesh, slowing him down. He already knew it would be too late, already knew the fate of the men he had promised to protect.

Promised to save.

He knew his father would be displeased by his actions. He knew he would find retribution. But he had assumed he would accept his son leaving as good enough. How wrong he had been. Never had he thought his father’s anger would be taken out on his flock. The blood spilled by his father would forever be on Boyd’s soul. Nothing could ever cleanse him of his mistake.

Boyd burst through the woods and into the clearing. He skidded to a stop as he took in the sight in front of him. He had been prepared to see his followers massacred, their bodies arranged in a way for maximum effect. He did remember how is father worked, after all. But what he found was…not at all what he had expected. Only then did he register the screams hadn’t stopped; in fact, two of his father’s men now crouched on the ground, holding what remained of their hands.

He froze in place as two of his father’s men - both still unscathed - turned towards him, lowering their rifles menacingly. His father took a menacing step towards him, fury radiating from every pore of his body. “What type of things have you been messing with, boy?”

The words that usually came so easily to Boyd caught in his throat as he surveyed the scene. While his father’s men that remained uninjured still held their shotguns towards him, he could see the slight shaking of their hands, evidence of confidence recently shaken. His own father eyed him as if he was the devil incarnate. And his followers…

His followers stared not at him, not at the men surrounding them threatening their very lives, but at one of the more recent additions to his flock. A tall British man, a man who seemed to appear out of nowhere to join their humble group. And while Boyd could tell he was not the most devout men, could tell his message never really resonated with the newcomer, he seemed amiable enough to join their congregation and pull his own weight. Boyd never complained; beggars can’t be choosers, after all.

“Perhaps we can discuss this at a later time, daddy,” Boyd said calmly, centering himself on his faith to portray an unaffected poise. A charade, perhaps, but one that would serve to prolong the time had to figure out what had happened during his absence.

“What have you done here?”

“Nothing, daddy,” Boyd said, his keeping his pretense of calm. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

His father’s face tightened and he stepped towards, hand going to his hip as if reached for a firearm. Yet, even with his son’s cheek potentially making him look bad in front of his own men, he paused. Looked back to his obviously shaken men, at the men sobbing as blood trickled from destroyed hands. His face cleared as he made a decision, the face of a general knowing when a battle was lost. “We will talk about his later. We ain’t done here, Boyd.”

Boyd nodded, not saying a word as his father and his men turned as one and walked back to their pickup trucks. The injured men didn’t immediately respond to the movement, until a sharp word from Boyd’s father forced them to their feet, walking shakily back to the vehicles. Only when the trucks roared out from the clearing, disappearing from their view, did Boyd turn to the older British man.

“I believe, Ethan,” he said quietly, looking the other man straight into the eye, “It’s time you and I sat down for a talk.”


End file.
